


Reverie

by Davechicken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his newly-stolen Grace, Castiel makes his way back to the Men of Letters Bunker. To fix all the problems, though, there's going to be some interesting alliances forged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> For Sacrosanctcastiel. I am not entirely sure how or why this happened, but it did...

The first thing I was greeted with was Dean, frantic and extremely mobile. His eyes were wide and fluttering, his hands balled into fists to keep them from doing... something. I had always been aware of human body language, but back when I had been myself - angelic, I mean - it had just been another layer of communication layered over the _sense_ of soul I would get. My brief and eventful time as a mortal had made it more... obvious, somehow. Louder. And right now, Dean's whole demeanour was one of extreme stress.

"Cas! Cas, man. What took you so long?"

"I have Grace, but my wings are still broken, Dean, I came as soon as I was able."

The Righteous Man was pacing, and I could see he was torn between making contact and not. Before, I'd just weathered his indecision about boundaries with the patience of the host, but I remembered that feeling, too, now. Not being sure if I should put my hand out for a shake or for a 'high five'; whether I should pat an elbow or a shoulder, go for a hug or more... or stay in my shell and flinch away from the slightest brush of fabrics together in case it made a sound. Humans are strangely tactile creatures.

"Well... it's good to see you, Cas. Really. I'm losing it, here. With demon-boy down in the basement, Death on my case, and Sam god-knows-where with that damn _angel_ in his melon..."

"You spoke to Death?"

"Yeah. He came by couple hours ago. Says souls aren't going up that should do. They're all stuck here, not even going to Purgatory because they're not bound for there, and he says it's cramping his style."

"I see. That is alarming news."

"Dude, tell me about it. And... Cas..."

Dean ground to one of those halts he was so fond of, and I stood and waited for him to work his way around the words he wanted. He always knew, somewhere, what he wanted to say. It was simply a matter of him being ready.

"...Kevin."

"I know. You told me."

"Yeah, but you're all... mojo'd up now. Can't you..." The hunter waggled his fingers in what I took to mean something to do with my powers, and specifically to do with resurrection.

"I'm afraid not. For one, he was a Prophet. For two, he was slain by an angel. Only God could bring him back. Did you not ask Death?"

"Yeah, I asked Death. Soon as I saw him. But he said no dice."

"And you thought I could cheat Death?"

"Worth a shot." Dean looked miserable, and I felt bad. I was also sad we had lost the Prophet, but it was sadly beyond my control. Death was the natural, eventual state of humanity, and it was just something you had to learn how to accept.

"I am sorry, Dean, truly. But if Death has said no, then only one power can defy him. And He has not been listening to my prayers for some time now."

"Yeah. Except to bring you back each time."

"I never asked for that."

As if it was my fault, somehow, who lived or died? It was true, I had never asked to be revived. I had been dead - gone - elsewhere each time. I appreciated my continued existence, of course, but I often questioned His reasoning. Crowley had once told me God brought me back for a reason, and for a time I had believed it. Now I was no longer sure _why_.

Dean jerked his head, and I followed him deeper inside. It was very hollow, now, this place I had once hoped to call my home. No Kevin. No Sam. And Crowley locked up somewhere below, or so Dean told me. 

"Show me the sigil."

Dean opened the door and let me in, and I knew he couldn't bring himself to see. It was just a message, a spell, painted on the wall. I could see where Sam's fingerprints smeared through the paint. I could see the words they had tried to use, and I could see how the angel had changed them. Cunning, very cunning. I did not know which of my siblings was responsible, but they were clever, whoever they were. And had they not run off with Sam Winchester, brother of Dean Winchester, one of the few people left I still cared for... I would admire this. 

It was old magic, and deep. It was binding... and strong. It was nothing I could fix, and I was loathe to admit it.

"I cannot save Sam alone," I said, when I left the room to see Dean's face fall again. All I seemed to do was disappoint. "He has changed the spell immensely, and it is no longer simply a case of contacting Sam to expel his... possessor. I do not know how to remove the angel against his will."

"So... what? You're saying we have to freaking torture him out of Sam? Or is there some other plan I'm just not getting? Help me out here, buddy."

"I... do not have a plan. But there is someone else here we could ask to help."

We shared one of those moments we had, where communication was all through eyes and stance. He did not want to understand what I was telling him, to begin with, then it all... came at once.

"No."

"Dean..."

"Dude, you want me to trust _Crowley_?"

"Do you have him restrained, currently?"

"Yeah."

"So he has every motive to co-operate, in return for his freedom. He is... very particular about upholding deals, once made. I can supervise the terms and conditions, to ensure he is not trying to cheat. If he doesn't have a solution, though, we simply do not free him."

I watched as Dean's jaw worked. I knew - of course I knew - that all this had already occurred to him. He just didn't want to be the one to voice the plan which was understandable, considering past deals we'd made with him. But in truth, I saw no other way.

"Fine. But I'll exorcise him my damn self if he..."

"Let us talk to him."

***

"Long time no see," said Crowley, from the chair he was bound to. I could see the shimmer of magics around the cuffs, the collar, the floor. With my true sight restored, the world was so much _more_. I could see on him, too, the flickers of something different. He wasn't the demon I'd known, but the extent of that? I couldn't quite tell. "Been gone for a while, Squirrel. Any reason why you've brought me a feathered visitor now? Trouble in paradise?"

I don't know how Crowley could tell, but he always could. He always managed to needle just right. Beside me, Dean's hackles raised and I could _hear_ the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Cut the crap, Crowley. I ain't in the mood."

"Oh, someone _has_ got their knickers in a twist. What's wrong? You need someone to flip the spinner on your naked Twister game? Or..."

I put my arm in front of Dean's chest, even as he surged forwards. All that anger, all that grief... Dean had had no outlet for it, and Crowley was treading on thin ice. 

"We would like to see if you have a solution to our problem. If you do, we would like to propose a deal," I told him.

"Deal? Why should I deal with you, Cas? Case you forgot, last time you and me were amigos? I wound up persona non grata at my own party. Dean? Maybe. You?"

"It would not be a deal with me. I am simply here to review the terms of the agreement," I told him, as calmly as I could. I was well aware of my own mistakes, but now was neither the time nor the place. 

"And I don't even _want_ to be asking you, dick. But Cas thinks you might be able to help."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "Well, as sitting down here is doing terrible things for my posture and even worse things to my social life... I'm listening." 

I snapped the chains away from his restraints, but left the binding rings on him. "Follow us. If you try to leave, the sigils on your cuffs will restrain you. If you did escape, we would just summon you back once more."

"Yes, yes, I get it. I wasn't damned yesterday, you know?" Crowley gestured to the demon trap on the floor, and I crouched, running a burning-hot finger through the line.

Crowley followed.

He examined the sigil, squinting, head tilted to one side, hands on his knees. He was making a show of it, I knew. He could read it as well as I could, could see the power behind the markings. But Crowley had more knowledge than I did of small print, of reading _between_ lines, of working out ways to bend a system, or break it if it came to it. He was a creature of trickery, in a way I could never even fathom.

"Won't be easy," he said. "Might hurt, too. But I think I can do it."

"Do what," Dean huffed, arms folded across his chest as he leaned on the door. We had not told Crowley what we needed, to make sure he could read the writing. I knew he could, but Dean wanted proof that Crowley wasn't lying about his talents.

"Kick the angel out of whichever head it's currently residing in. And judging by your temper, it's either the Moose or the Prophet. But as I'm not even sure a Prophet _can_ be a vessel... it's Sam, isn't it? Nothing else would make you this cranky, or come to me for help. Who was it? Malachai? Nathaniel?"

"We do not know, yet," I told him. "He claimed to be Ezekiel, which means he did not want his true name known."

"Tricky, tricky little bird... gotta hand it to him. Pulling the wool over the Winchesters' eyes? No mean feat. You get me Sam, and I'll get the squatter out. Even kill him for you, if it's what you want. And in return..."

"Freedom," Dean said, curtly. 

"Sounds fair to me. Although I'd like some proviso in there about best efforts, and in case you don't..." The demon's head turned, then, and he stared at me.

I stared back.

"You're not... right," Crowley told me.

"I am fine."

"Kitten... no one knows better than me... you're not... _you_. Your... wings are all tattered and... is that even...?" He walked right up to me, eyes narrowed, trying to see past the cuffs binding him, trying to see... "...you?" A finger in my chest, and I took a step back.

Crowley did too.

"No..." He was horrified, and from a demon? That wasn't nice to hear.

"Crowley..."

For a moment, I thought I saw fear on his face. Fear of me. Crowley drew himself up tall and fluffed like a he-beast, trying to look intimidating and dangerous to cover up his distress. "You're not _you_ , Castiel. I don't know what you did, but... you were bad enough when you were Dick. This is a _bad_ idea..."

"Dude, what does he mean?" Dean asked, and now I was on the back foot.

"The Grace... it is not my own. I had to... improvise to survive."

"That's not the whole truth, is it?" Crowley pushed, and I didn't appreciate the tone when he called me a liar.

"I took more than one. It was important that I could defend myself, and you, Dean. I needed to know I would be useful and strong."

"With stolen Grace? Isn't that... isn't that kind of a contradiction in terms?" arms were folded across his chest, now, and he was back to withdrawing. "I think you're risking a lot, Cas. I really do. Maybe you think it's worth it? But you should remember what happened _last_ time you went beyond your means. I've had enough God-Castiel to last me several lifetimes..."

"C'mon." Dean was my gruff saviour from this line of questioning. "I'm putting you back downstairs. You can work out the first draft of the contract, and then we can take out all the BS and be done with it."

"Your funeral, Dean," Crowley said, his eyes sliding over me in a way I did not like.

I did not like at all.

***

The deal written, the trap laid, there was little else to do, now, but rest. It was late in the day and it would be difficult to track down Sam and his kidnapper in the night time. He already had several days' lead on us, and so another night would be no problem.

So we sat at the table, and Dean drank beer, and I pretended to drink beer to make him feel better about it. We had been in silence for too long. I would have been comfortable in it, if I couldn't feel the way Dean flinched on every thought, every breath.

"How many," he asked, at length, and I didn't need to ask him what he meant.

"Seven."

Dean nodded. "And they were...?"

"Trying to kill me," I reasoned. "I could have killed them, but I thought I may as well make use of their powers."

"Yeah, but... is it even a good idea?"

"I was better before? Weak and helpless and about to be tortured to death?"

"Well... I can see why you'd want your own Grace back, but... someone else's? And they were a d-bag? Doesn't that sort of mean you've got seven d-bags' worth of... shit?"

"I am still me," I argued. "I am still Castiel. I can feel their power within me, but the power is not what makes me who I am. I was still Castiel without it, I will be Castiel forever."

Dean hesitated. I could see he... I could see what he thought, what he was afraid to say, and what I was afraid to think, too.

"...you are remembering the Leviathans," I guessed.

He didn't nod, but his jaw clenched in the way that he had that meant 'yes', underneath it all.

"They were different. They were truly evil. These are angel Graces... and I will be careful not to go too far. I promise, Dean."

"I really can't... not Sam _and_ you... Cas. Just... promise me. I don't care. I'd have you human and sane than angel and whackjob."

I wanted to reply with something... sharp... but I deserved that remark, so I just nodded.

"We will get him back."

"Yeah."

***

Angels do not dream. Angels do not sleep. We are timeless and ageless beings, and to apply human characteristics to us is to simplify things, or to project things which are not there. But angels do not dream. I never used to, anyway. We did not need to rest, and if we did? We went to Heaven.

I don't know if I developed the habit through my Graceless days, or if it was simply my way of coping without a Heaven to retire to, but I would sometimes sit and... drift. One minute I would be in the world, the next... gone.

As Dean slept, I kept watch. But eventually my mind wandered, and instead of the bunker, I was in a garden. I don't know if the garden was one from my memories, or one my mind created, but it was peaceful. It was sometime after dawn, and the dewdrops kissed the blades of grass. Within them miniature worlds reflected and distorted, tinged with rainbow hues. I crouched onto my haunches, and I saw myself inside, watching myself inside, watching myself inside. On and on and on it went, unto eternity. Until I reached out my hand to touch, and in doing so the droplet broke down between the ploughed furrows of my fingertip, and those endless worlds were destroyed in carnal whorls. I rubbed them between finger and thumb and I mourned them.

***

Sam was difficult to track down. Whoever was inside had access to his memories, it seemed, for he knew every trick in the book, knew how to escape detection, how to shake a tail. He did, however, have the disadvantage of being physically memorable. There are only so many ways to conceal a man of Sam Winchester's height. 

Eventually I found him. 

The moment I saw him, I knew we had not met. The angel behind those eyes which I knew so well stared at me for a fraction of a moment before he tried to flee, and I reached out with all the strength I had to restrain him.

"Castiel," the angel snapped, resisting the grip I had on him with every fibre of his being. "This vessel will come to no harm when I am in it. I suggest you leave, for you cannot injure me without also risking him."

"You will come with me, brother," I tried. "You will come calmly, and there may yet be hope for your survival. But if you persist in this folly, I will have no choice..."

"But to kill me, and Sam alongside? That is what will happen."

"No, brother - who are you?"

"What does it matter?"

"I want to know who you are. I want to know... why...?"

We were circling, now, like two stags about to lock horns. He was not strong, I could see. Dean had said that Sam was sick, and I could sense it in the dark flickers, the shadows around his form. But I still did not want to harm my charge, my friend. 

"My name is not important."

" _Tell. Me._ "

He was weakening. I was winning. I walked closer, and he withdrew into himself.

"Tell me your name."

"Gadreel," said my brother, and the seven-fold power within me bore him down.

***

It was Sam, but it was not Sam. He was bound to a chair in a ring of holy fire, which I could not cross. Inside was Crowley, and he had a task I did not envy him.

"I have to go," I said to Dean, and I knew before I said it that he would look betrayed once more. It was almost his default expression other than disappointment with me, these days.

"Cas, I need you!"

"You do not. You have Sam. You have Crowley, who will free him if anyone can. When he is done, you will have Sam himself again."

Dean grabbed my arm, and tugged me out of the room, leaving the demon and the man-angel behind. Pointless, I could have told him, both angel and demon could hear us if they so desired. But it was, I suppose, a human thing.

"What if something goes wrong?"

"It will not."

"Yeah. Famous last words. What the hell, man? What's more important than this? You can't just up and leave without _explaining_."

"I'm not. I am explaining now: I believe I need to fix Heaven. It is my fault, after all, that this has happened. It is another reason I took those extra Graces within me. I need to be powerful to defeat Metatron. Souls are stuck, angels are..." I waved a hand to the room behind us, "...causing chaos, murdering one another, slaughtering humans... this is because of me, and I must fix it."

"We can do it together, Cas. We're stronger together. We always are. It's why that dick made me send you away. He knew all three of us are an unstoppable team."

I put my hand on Dean's arm. "We are. And we will continue to be. But where I am going, you cannot. I need an angel who can still reach Heaven, and there is only one left. Only one, and I must keep him far from you."

Dean's face went pale with fear, and I hated that I had caused it, but it was necessary. Michael was my only choice, and to have him and Dean together would be the height of stupidity. Even I was not that foolish.

"No. No! Not that dick! Cas... you gotta be kidding me! You saw what happened last time that shit was running around! He'll try and end the whole world all over again! Not to mentioned what happened when you brought _Sam_ back..."

"Angels do not have souls, we have Grace. If I somehow leave that behind, we can simply take another's Grace, and use his wings to enter Heaven. An archangel and I together... Metatron could not hope to resist..."

"This is so not a good plan on so many levels I don't even know where to begin. Cas. I'm begging you. You gotta see this is bull? There's some other way... hell. We'll ask Death. Maybe he's pissed off enough he'll zap you upstairs. Or we find a way to bag Mr. Tall Tale himself... _anything_ but more angel dicks. Anything."

But my mind was made up, and I shook my head no.

"...don't do it, Cas... don't... and if you're gonna do it..."

"I must do it alone."

And so I left.

***

I had thought many a time on my follies. I have made a great number of mistakes in my time. My first was actually not a mistake, as it turned out, and though I worried about disobeying Heavenly orders at first, in truth it was the very success of my first rebellion that would persuade me into my further ones.

Purgatory was a mistake. Defying Raphael might not have been, but I went about it all wrong. Angels are not... designed... to think for themselves. When we do, you get Lucifer. You get Gabriel. You get me. I do not seek to aggrandise myself in this, it is... simple truth. Angels who rebel are few and far between. The first could hardly be counted as a role model for anyone, and Gabriel... he had had his flaws, but he had died nobly and he had lived well. But he had died, all the same.

The rest? You could not set them free for trying. Like the conditioned soldiers they were, they would follow under the tallest banner, the one they thought was God's chosen. Might was right in their eyes, and that was that.

Perhaps I should have thought this through more, but in reality? I thought I had. I had tried every which way to return to Heaven, but to no avail. We needed wings, and I had none.

I did at least tell Dean of my plans this time, for all he did not approve. But he had not told me why he'd sent me away, so... I felt a little aggrieved, still, I suppose. It was petty, but I was, too.

And so I went back to the Cage. 

It is impossible to describe Hell, as impossible as it is to explain Heaven. I can try to put it into words, but they do not do it justice. You cannot _speak_ of the smell, of the stench that is there even when you do not breathe. It is the smell of death, of decay, of faecal matter, of blood, of the liquid that lines the sheaths of sinew and tendons... 

Nor could I describe to you the awful noise. One moment it would be silent, the next a cacophony so loud that your whole being rattled in its wake. It was the scream of a mother rent from her baby, it was the yowl of a sinner trapped in a nightmare. It was every bad thing and more.

There is no light in Hell. Fires burn, but you see them and you do not. They glow and blaze after-images into your mind, but if you look at them you realise it is pitch black, too. Things are both crowded in on you and impossibly distant, all the same. The mind goes mad trying to understand it, it recoils in horror for this place is the opposite of sense, order, logic, reason. It is chaos, pure and simple. And for a being such as me... 

I have been to Hell four times. Once to retrieve the Righteous Man, once to sell my better judgement to the King of Hell, once to retrieve Sam... and now I went in to find Michael.

It was not as simple as fly in and out. I no longer had my wings. Still, I had bored a hole into the wall when I went last time and to Fall you need no wings at all.

So I Fell.

***

Hell is - compared to the Cage - nothing. The Cage is Hell for the Devil. The Cage is the prison for the first evil. I can say for certain, now, that I would rather spend a million years in Hell to one day in the Cage.

I realised as the first feeling of weightlessness hit... that pride came first once more. Two things angels fear: the absence of love - in particular the love of God - and falling. We are creatures of flight and love. Take that away and what are we? I was falling - _Falling_ \- and I could never escape on my own. Not again. I was relying on an older brother who I'd defied and tricked and trapped to get me free. It was ridiculous, and so was I.

Down and down into the abyss, and the paranoia and the anguish and the fear pressed in on me, threatening to crush the very spirit from me. It's what Hell does. It's what the _Cage_ does. I was just an angel running on stolen juice and I would never equal the strength of the one this prison was created for. I fell, I fell, and I became nothing. I was nothing. I was horror. I was no longer Castiel.

I do not know how long I was in freefall, because time has no meaning down there. The blink of an eye is eternity. I just know I was lost, and then he found me.

In the darkness, I saw his light. Even here - even in the darkest place to ever exist, a place so dark that light itself was stolen and devoured - he burned. He burned with that fire that could only be Heaven, and I saw the beauty and I knew. I knew.

He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Faces in every direction, wings that would envelop a world, a voice that pealed like morning bells... it ached to witness, and no matter how I averted my gaze, no matter how I tried to shield myself, I could not.

I reached out for him, and I whispered, "I know how to get free." It was hard to get the words out, because the pit and tar ran down my throat and choked my tongue, and despair filled my lungs with liquid hate. "If you can fly, I can show you."

He nodded, and the blue light of Grace wrapped around me, coiling around my very being. It was wonderful. It was awesome, in the original sense of the word. I was struck dumb in the presence of an archangel, and eight wings beat out like a ripple, pulling us higher.

Below, darkness reached out, jealous of the light. Tendrils snaked around him, and they tried to push into every orifice. I was not human, here, but I was as well at the same moment. Those snakes pushed into my ears, up my nose, into my mouth, down my throat. They stole lower, too, and I choked in horror as they thrust between my legs and tried to go up into my core. Furious, avenging, jealous hands tugged those snakes from me, saved me and cast them down. Again they surged, and I screamed out in horror as I tried to show the way, and again my saviour pulled me free. I did not see what they did to him, but in my selfishness I did not care.

And then - oh then - my mouth was clear and I screamed the way home and that was the last thing I remembered feeling.

***

A dream, half remembered. Like I did when I was human. The ones you woke part way through, and were more images and flickers than cogent, rational thought. Like a painting done wet on glass and then hosed off, the colours merging and smearing and then leaving behind nothing but the oil-slick that said something had been there. A picture you could never repair or bring back to life.

Light. Trees. Air. A voice, in the distance. Fire. Fear. Dark.

I dragged my eyes open and I looked up to see my brother.

It was not Michael, in his body made of ash and dust.

It was my other brother.

I had rescued Lucifer.

***

I was out cold for some time, which... disturbed me greatly. It takes a lot to affect an angel, so. Of course, going to Hell and having the Prince of Lies save you was possibly enough. When I finally stirred, I realised we were somewhere I had seen but never been. We were in the Holy Land, far from what I'd considered my... could I say 'home'? I could tell by the texture of the air, the heat on my face. Lucifer had brought me back to where it all began.

We. Because I was not alone. I dragged my vessel to its knees, and staggered up to my feet. My clothes didn't show char or pitch, just the dirt of the earth I'd lain on. My brother hovered above me, his feet not touching the ground. He had not taken a vessel, and he bent in half to bring his faces close to mine. Plentifold eyes blinked curiously at me, and I heard his voice ask in my chest, _Why?_

"Please," I said, trying not to cower in the face of his reality. "Please... let me call your vessel."

 _Sam is here?_ Lucifer asked, confusion that was a wisp of air stirring sand around me, dancing over my feet. 

"No... wait..."

I knew Michael had done this with Adam, had reached into the earth and found the form, recalled the body and given it breath. I was no archangel, but I had the power of seven of my kind within me, and I was suddenly filled with terror that if I didn't, he would find Sam and force Gadreel to let him in.

I crouched low and put my hands to the earth and I... _pulled_ : a memory of a frame, a voice, a shape. Lucifer watched me curiously. He must know how to do this better than I, but he let me do it all the same. I wasn't sure why he was still here, but I didn't want to speak to him like this.

There. I made for him a home. It was the best I could do, and I stepped back. 

My brother seemed to consider this for a moment, before he nodded his assent with heads that went on forever. He went in through the mouth, pouring endless light into a suit of flesh and blood, and I watched, unable to look away. I had never seen this before, I had only ever _done_ it. I am the size of the Chrysler building, but Lucifer? Lucifer is the brightest angel ever made. The largest, too. Larger even than Michael, the firstborn. To see such a massive, powerful being fold itself down and down and down, to cram in between the atoms and between the electrical charge, swirling blue Grace that made the vessel creak and groan... no wonder he burned through them, I thought. No wonder he needed a true vessel.

I am not afraid to admit: Lucifer is both the closest and the furthest thing from God that I have ever witnessed.

"This is very... restrictive, Castiel," said Lucifer when he was finally settled down. "Have you become so indoctrinated that you forget you are an angel, underneath?"

"No, it is just... it is easier, this way."

"For you?"

I nodded. If nothing else, now he only had a few inches on me, instead of the leagues of difference between his form and mine. I was over-awed by the glory of his light and power.

"You are a strange bird, brother. First you conspire against me, then you steal my body from under me, then you come after me to bring me out? You _are_ a mystery."

"I... meant to free Michael," I admitted, as I stood my ground. The archangel paced closer, closing the distance between us. I tried not to wither, to wilt. It was difficult. It went against everything I knew. But I had to, or he would destroy the world.

"So I was your second choice. Did the old duck say no?"

There was no point in lying. "No. I... I saw you and... I do not know why, but I knew... to bring you out." 

"I know I am the Arch Tempter, but even for me, that's a coup." His head tilted, and I knew I was being weighed up. I am nothing, to Lucifer. To Michael, too. The last time the Morningstar saw me, he turned me to red dust and splatter with a snap of his fingers. He could do the same now, and it was only curiosity that saved me, I suppose.

"I need your help, Lucifer."

"You... want _my_ help?"

"You can see my wings," I went on, and as he did not answer... I reluctantly pulled them out.

I had not, since the first time I did this on my own. I'd had to see for myself, and that had been horrible enough. But he would see them, regardless, and I knew I had to have his trust. The arch of my wings unfolded and from the bare, flightless bones a few more black feathers fell to the ground. What little I had left moulted with every flap, with every extension. I was grounded, an angel half whole. 

"I did see," he agreed, and he walked around behind me, a finger trailing across the skeletal remains. All the life was sapped, and the cold of his touch went straight to the marrow, went straight to my core. "And that's no mean feat, to pluck a blackbird such as you. You must have _really_ pissed Him off, if He did that..."

"It was not God. It... it was Metatron. He clipped all the angels' wings, he cast us all down to the Earth. Heaven is for him alone, now. Not even for the souls."

"He took more than your wings, didn't he?" asked Lucifer, and his hands stroked down and took my shoulders in their grip, his vessel pressing full-length behind me, his words whispers in my ear both charming and profane. "I can smell it on you. I can smell _them_."

"I did what I had to do," I repeated. "It is anarchy, Lucifer. Brother against brother. And no one but Metatron in Heaven. It has to stop. It has to."

"And you thought Michael would go up to spank the naughty boy?" The serpent's words were laughter, and I knew my folly once more. He was going to kill me. He was going to end me. He was going to _unmake me_ and take Sam for his own. I had gone for Michael, and that was bad enough.

And I had brought out the Fallen One.

"Yes."

"As if I don't want it all to _burn_."

And Lucifer was gone.

And I was not dead.

And I was somehow... home.

***

"Cas!" Dean looked harried, but less so this time. There was hope in his eyes as well as fear, and I knew without asking that the hope was for Sam as well as me. Sam first, probably. It was only right. Sam was his brother, and I never would be. "You aren't dead? Are you...?"

"I am fine," I lied, for I felt shaken like I could not remember feeling. "How is Sam?"

"Crowley's working on it. We've talked a few times. It's getting easier to get through to him, but it's still not... it's still not fixed... it's something. But... you?"

"I went to the Cage."

"And is Michael going to help us? Or... what?"

"No. It... Michael did not come with me."

"Right." Dean was pleased, but trying to hide it, but disappointed, too, I supposed. Things with humans were never black and white.

I should tell him. I should. But I was afraid.

"Dude..." Dean could tell. Perhaps it was something else I had forgotten to forget, when I became an angel once more. Deception.

"I brought out Lucifer."

There wasn't really a good way to say that. Perhaps I could have said it less bluntly, because Dean looked like I'd kicked him in the heart.

"I did not mean to, but... I did. And then I asked him to help."

"Lucifer. Biggest dick who ever dicked? The first dick? El-Dicko Supremo? Cas, you... _asked Lucifer for help_?"

"I did not think it would do any harm. Once he was out, I mean."

"Right. Right. And he said...?"

"He laughed and sent me here."

"He's probably gone to get a bottle of champagne for when the _ass_ inside Sammy moves over to let him in... Cas what were you THINKING?"

Apparently our spat was loud enough to disturb the household, because from the dungeon came Crowley, a bloodied drill bit in one hand, looking ready to attack. "Oh. It's you."

"Crowley, this is not your--"

"Shut it, Sparkles," Crowley said, and my mind went through all the myriad things the drill could be used for and I wished it hadn't. "Are you going to tell me why Dean is screaming louder than Twinkletoes down below?"

"You know what? You can handle this," Dean snapped. "I've had enough of you all. I just want my brother back and all you winged and pitchforked shits to leave us the hell alone." He stormed over to the dish where the Impala's keys sat, and I knew there was no stopping him, so I didn't even try.

When I said nothing, though, Dean threw his hands up in further annoyance, and once again I did the wrong thing.

I always did the wrong thing.

And then I was alone with Crowley.

***

Downstairs was the vessel of the Lord of Hell, currently with a squatter. Driving out at the limit of torque and tension was his brother, and the only responsible agents in the Men of Letters bunker were the King of Hell (in restraining cuffs, under magical duress, partially deposed in his absence) and an angel with broken wings who had just freed the Devil from the perfect trap laid to save the world.

We sat at the table as though we were friends about to discuss our dinner plans, or perhaps how to redecorate the three bathrooms and the hallway. Not what we were really there to talk about.

"Why, Cas?"

Crowley was strangely calmer than I thought he would be. He's never been shy to tell me how he really feels about something, and when he's annoyed he tends to yell. I suppose he realises it's beyond control, now, so we might as well use it. Ever the pragmatist, Crowley.

"I meant to fetch Michael," I told him, my hands clasped on the table before me. "But I saw Lucifer."

"Did you know it was him?"

"It... it was... in the Cage it is confusing. It's... not easy. But I was drawn to him. It felt... right."

"I hope there's a reason for that, rather than just the pretty face. He can be very alluring, can Luci."

"He didn't kill me."

"Well. That's a small mercy."

"No... I mean it. He watched over me until I came around, and then he... we talked and then he brought me here."

"Very sporting of him."

"He must have a reason..."

"He must. Well. You do realise you've put me in a very awkward position, don't you? I'm not exactly going to be on his Christmas card list, and instead I'm going to be somewhere on the Hit List. If the Father of Lies is back, then I'm..."

"You will be fine. You always are."

"Yeah, I guess so."

But he wouldn't be the King of Hell, would he? Lucifer would not brook a King in his kingdom, and he'd not work well under the archangel, either. It was one of the inalienable truths of the world. I felt... regret. It was Hell, and I should have no care for it at all, but still I felt sorrow. Crowley really was better the devil I knew.

"And when he tries to end the world again?" Crowley asked.

"I just have to hope he won't."

***

Perfect light, filtering down. Somewhere a bird was singing, his throat swollen with lust and territory. He trilled up and down, but I could not see where he was. I walked under the branches and into a clearing, surprised to find I was not alone. Here - in my garden-dream - was another angel, sitting in the meadow.

He looked up when he saw me, and at once I saw his true form and the vessel he chose to inhabit, in that nonsense sense you get inside a dream. It was Lucifer, though here his vessel was pure and incorrupt, his shadowy blue haze somehow cleaner, less stained. The taint of the Fall was there, of course, but it was lessened in this place.

"What are you doing here, little brother?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I did not think you dreamt."

"I did not. It is... a habit I have formed. And you?"

Lucifer did not answer me. He was sitting with his knees drawn up before him, his long arms trailed over them. Behind, I could see the whisper of his wings, but only like a heat-haze that vanished if I concentrated too hard.

"Sit with me," he said.

It was foolish. I was foolish. I have ever been foolish.

I walked to his side and I sat, echoing his posture with my own. He seemed to tilt his head back to the sun, catching the open rays and drinking them through his pores. I did the same, though my eyes I left open to stare at the yellow light of the day star. It would burn the eyes of a vessel without an angel inside - or it would in the real world - but I think that here it would be safe either way.

"What have you been doing?" I asked.

"Oh, really, Cas? Interrogating me in my time off? Hardly fair..."

"I am sorry, I only meant to make light conversation."

"You really _are_ as awkward as they say you are. Castiel, the little seraph who could, but never knew why..."

"You will forgive me being unsure of myself around you, brother. You are..."

"Intimidating? Daunting? Dashing? Terrifying?"

"Yes."

He laughed, and he nudged a shoulder into mine. "Relax. If I was going to crush you, I'd do it in the real world, not here."

"I find that very reassuring indeed."

"I've been... investigating. Seeing what the world has been up to in my absence. Looking into the Metatron business. Looking into Hell."

"So you have seen Abaddon?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know _how_.

"Come on, little brother. Don't keep secrets from me. Not in our dreams."

"Crowley."

Lucifer tilted his head at me again. How strange it was to see that look directed at me. "Demon, right? Yay tall..." A gesture above his seated head. "Pretentious, old world voice? Fond of paperwork?"

"Yes. In... your absence..."

"I know. 'King of Hell', wasn't he calling himself?"

"That's who I mean."

"You want me to kill him?"

"No! No... I... brother would you... would you spare him?"

"Spare him? Why would I want to do that?"

"He... is... he is honest. Reliable. A demon of his word."

"You do realise that describing a demon in those terms does not endear them to most of their own kind?"

"You are not one of 'their kind'."

"That is true," Lucifer agreed. "Alright. I'll spare him, for as long as it suits my purposes. But what is he to you?"

"Someone I once wronged."

"There will be many who you count in that number, before the end."

"There already are."

He was not content with my answer, though, and I could see the sharpness in his eyes. My brother did not like to be lied to, for all he is the crown prince. Perhaps because he is.

"You were lovers, weren't you?"

There was no point in denying it, though it was the first time I had ever said as much to anyone. "We made a pact. He was the King of Hell. We had to seal it."

"Yes, you did. But it went beyond that, or you wouldn't be here asking _me_ for a favour."

My eyes lowered. It was true, that was how it started. And I had convinced myself it was purely physical at the time. Touch and nothing more. Nothing at all.

It was how I justified my betrayal.

It was how...

"I think--"

But something broke the dream, and I blinked back into the world.

***

There was a whoop and a scream and from below I felt the world somehow _give_. I darted towards the dungeon, where a bloodied, bruised Sam was wrapped around Dean. Behind them stood Crowley and he put his hand out to stop me going nearer, a warning shake of his head.

"Dean," said Sam, his voice almost gone.

"I can heal him," I said, and I looked for evidence of the angel Crowley had expelled, but I found none. 

Dean broke the hug and looked at Sam, and Sam nodded. 

It hurt a little, that they would even consider saying no. I stepped in and put my fingers to the mark on his brow and with my stolen Grace I reached inside and pushed. He was too far gone for me to fix completely, but I could make a difference and I did. I pushed everything in that I could, and I did not stop until a demon's hand pulled me back.

Of all people, him.

Dean nodded his thanks, and so did Sam, and we left them. 

Outside, at the table, I unworked the cuff and collars from Crowley.

"Gadreel?"

"It was kill him or make sure Sam was safe."

"Truly?"

Crowley's smile said no. Not truly. Not wholly.

"Almost."

"Dean will kill you."

"He will try. The angel made a dumb choice. Made a few. But he wasn't a bad bird, all things considered. He might be killed by one of your kind, might not last the night. But I wasn't about to do it. And if he does survive, then there's one more angel who owes me a favour."

"Just one," I said.

"Oh? Really?"

"I do not think Lucifer will be a problem for you any more."

"...I see. And this came about because...?"

"I asked it of him."

"And he said yes?"

"He did."

"Well, he is the Prince of Lies."

"I know, but it was the best I could do, in the circumstances."

"I see. In that case... I guess we are even. As long as you don't tell Dean about the one that flew the nest." Crowley tapped a finger to the side of his nose.

"I won't. Be safe, Crowley."

"You know me. I always am."

And he was gone.

***

This time I looked for him. He was not in the clearing, and he was not by the river. I wandered for a long time, until I saw the Tree.

It was _the_ Tree, I could tell. I had not known this place before, because my memory of the old days was flawed and ruined. But this dream was shared, and Lucifer's memory of the Garden was clearer than mine. He stared upon the Tree, laden with fruit and knowledge. The knowledge of good and evil. The knowledge of sin. The fruit hung low and promising on the branches, ripe with temptation. I could smell the juice and taste the flesh, even though I never had. I could feel it thick and perfect in my mouth, the golden promise of divinity sliding down my throat and sitting heavy in my belly as a leaden weight.

Lucifer stood below it, gazing up. 

"Do you always dream of here?" he asked me, his voice distant and sad.

"Not always, but often."

"For me, it is always here."

He was sad, my brother. Lucifer was sad. He gazed up at the tree, and I know he remembers. I know he remembers when Eve reached up and took. I know he remembers when his suspicions - to him - were proven right. He always thought that humanity was flawed, and all it took was an insidious whisper in an ear and they were ruined from here and born into life as the beings of imperfection and hope and potential and striving that I knew and loved.

Of course he would not choose to come here willingly. Of course this was part of his Hell. Here Lucifer sees the world before _it_ Fell. He sees the little slice of Heaven that is forever forbidden to him, and he watches it crumble. 

Lucifer's wings started to swell, all eight of them rising from his shoulders. He could not help himself, I saw. He could not stop this. They unfurled like golden, firey blankets and they lifted to block out the light.

"You have not done much," I said to him, trying to pull his attention back to me. "Since your return. Is there a problem? Is there a reason?"

"There is no Michael," he answered, distractedly. He was becoming wrapped up in the dream, in the memory, in the hallucination. "With no Michael, there can be no end. And now... now I do not know..."

"You could restore Heaven," I suggested, as softly as I could. I walked up to him on careful, cautious feet. The devil seemed to be losing control, he was struggling. I reached a hand out, but I did not lay it on. I could feel the cold beginning to settle in, I could feel the start of heat leaving the world to go inside his chest.

"I..."

Lucifer paced, and there was something serpentine in the way he walked, a shimmer in his hips, a swagger in his Grace. 

"You wanted us to be free, brother. You wanted us to have our own path. To be free to make our own decisions. Didn't you? Didn't you want the _choice_?"

I did not know where the words came from, but came they did, and blue eyes that were almost slitted turned to look at me, a tongue forked in two. 

"Now God has left us to our own devices, and we do not need to end the world. You do not need Sam, and he does not need you. You can be free, Lucifer. We can all be free."

"Liessss..."

I put my hand on his shoulder, and the world disappeared.

***

Sam was convalescing slowly. I healed him when I could. He was very sick, and even with all the stolen power at my disposal, it was almost not enough. The war raged on over the Earth, but below... it was strange.

One day, Abaddon was gone.

Just gone.

And Crowley was King once more.

"I don't know how you did it," Crowley said, as we sat side by side in a room now cleared of equipment. He had no need of his torture chamber any more, and now it was just... a sitting room. It was casually cordial, and you would not think it belonged to the King of Hell. "But for the minute, _he_ seems happy with me here."

"I would not count my blessings," I said. "Any time would be too soon."

"True enough. I will take what I can, when I can. And thank you, by the way. It was..."

"Yes." I knew what he meant. I knew.

"Now my house is in order, I wish I knew how to fix yours..."

"That would be a sight to see, wouldn't it? A demon, fixing Heaven."

"Stranger things have happened, angel. Stranger things by far."

We drank tea, because he liked tea and I did not care. We drank it and we spoke of things that were of no importance, but meant everything in the world.

He was...

...he was like a friend, now. 

My friend.

***

I was worried about going back to the garden, because each time I went it was worse, somehow. Darker. It was a progression, and I didn't want to know what came next. I _knew_ , but I did not want to see. I thought that if I never went back, if I never had to see it, that my memory could be frozen and...

...I went.

This time, the garden was in ruins. Lucifer stood by the Tree and his form flickered, now. At once angel multiform and perfect; at once a man with a body that trembled; at once a snake with bifurcated tongue, with eyes that narrowed to tombstone slits; at once the flicker of the crown of Hell, the red horns and the tail that were only caricatures of the truth, but so embedded in the subconscious of all humanity that even I had picked up on them.

Lucifer rippled throughout them, as the garden - the Garden - flickered, too. There were the bowers, the roses, the holly, the ivy... and they were also lost in flames; giant tongues that consumed all the life and turned it into Hell. Eden had never burned, but it must have in his mind. He must have seen paradise break and ruin. 

Satan was trying to fight it, he was trying to keep this image in his mind as long as possible. It must be agony exquisite to hover so, but he could not let go of the thing he needed to the most. And here - at his most powerful, at his most deadly, at his most dangerous - I realised he was the weakest I had ever seen him. There was no way for him to stop this, and I don't even know if he could sense me there.

"Lucifer," I called, and I felt pity but no fear. It was just a memory, just a nightmare, it was not real at all. Not any more.

The devil ignored me, his head thrown back in a scream of defiance. I heard it all, echoing in my mind. Heard his pleas, his begging, his refusal, his rejection. I heard the conversation all from his side, but I did not need to hear God to know what He said in return. He was furious, he was glorious, he was angry, he was dangerous, and he was pathetic.

Pity.

He was a broken being, this beautiful angel. He was a being of love, with nothing left to love. He was empty.

I spread my wings and I walked up to him. Lucifer did not see me, until I was right behind him. I wrapped my arms around his freezing waist and I lifted my wings up high. In here, they were entire. In here, they were complete. I arched my smaller span of black up, and I sheltered his eyes from the pouring hot rain. I wrapped them around him, and pulled him to my chest.

I held him until it passed. I held him until he woke.

When he woke, I was alone, and the garden was born anew. It was the end of his nightmare. It was the end of his story. The rest I knew. The rest was written.

***

He found me, not the other way around. He still had his wings, and I was limited to the transport of humans. It was inconvenient, but it was all I had.

He came to the bunker, in a body that was failing him again. There were gaps in his skin where damnation seeped through, and his beautiful eyes were pained. Lucifer could heal any wound but the ones he created.

"I have not come for Sam," the archangel told me, a sneer still in his words because it blanketed him. "So you don't need to draw your blade."

"I know," I answered, and the blade was nowhere near my fist. "I know."

"This is only because you came for me," Lucifer went on. "Only because you brought me out of the Cage. But this is three favours, now: the human, the demon, and Heaven."

"You have been more than generous."

"And then you will leave me in peace. All of you. Always."

"As you wish, brother."

His body was dying - Lucifer was not. When this frame ended, I supposed he intended to leave. To fly far away from the Earth, to plant his feet in a garden devoid of humans. To hide from the broken reflections of his - _our_ \- Father's face. 

Lucifer held his hand out to me, and I took it. He burned as cold as deep space, as cold as the vacuum between the stars. Morningstar, they call him. My brother is beauty like you will never know. You cannot know, because you cannot see him as he really is. I can. I can see his flaws, too.

His wings were strong, strong enough to pull us from the Cage. Lucifer tugged me to his chest and we flew up to Heaven. It is then - perhaps too late - that I realised he is forbidden to enter. Our Father cast him down, and he has never since been back. We should burn for this blasphemy, we should be cast down in darkness and fire back into the Cage that perhaps we never even left. But we were not. We flew on, and the world whipped around us. The skies parted around us. Perhaps I sheltered him. Perhaps my broken wings covered him still, or the Grace of seven siblings stolen and buried in my chest. Sinners, both. Rebels, both. And here we stood, the angels who said no, the angels who refused and within... the angel who was the worst of us all.

"Come with me, brother," I asked.

Lucifer nodded.

We entered through the gates, and we took our homeland back.

***

Crowley held Hell. With Abaddon gone, with Lucifer behind him... none dared stand against him. I was glad for two reasons. One: because he was fair and just, and all those things Lucifer had laughed when I called him thus. 

Two: because he _was_ my friend. He knew me, some days, better than Dean did. Dean had taught me humanity, but Crowley had taught me something else. We had been enemies, we had been partners, we had been lovers, we had been spurned lovers and partners of betrayed trust, and we had gone back to the beginning again now as friends. 

In Crowley I learned how to lie, to cheat, to steal and to betray. But he didn't teach me those lessons, they were all my own doing. 

Crowley I could tell... I could tell him what had happened. I could tell him what I did and why. He understood things in a way Dean did not, and I had faith that in time we could mend our broken fences. 

I loved him, even now. And from the way he welcomed me cautiously back, but not without reservation... perhaps he loved me too. I hoped so. I truly did.

Sam healed. His body slowly came back to itself. It was a combination of my magic and - though we did not tell him - Crowley's. His mind healed too, and eventually he was the Sam I'd always known.

Dean... Dean was Dean.

And I was myself once more. With Heaven's gates reopened, and the spell lifted I found my Grace returned. I still kept the other seven, as a reminder of what had happened, but I felt... I felt whole again. I felt like myself.

And Lucifer? Lucifer was gone. No one heard from him, or saw him.

Well.

None but me.

***

I choose to dream. I choose to dream wherever and whenever I can. Lucifer's body has long since gone, and his light has fled the Earth he still despises. But he is no longer Caged in the depths of the world, he is out in the sky. There the icy chill of his being is at home with the heatless black, and the bright glow of his Grace is a Morningstar once more.

The dreams still progress and always will. Some days there is sunlight and laughter and the singing of birds and angels on high. Some days there is the Tree. Some days there is Hell. He cannot break the cycle, and nor can I. He rages, sometimes. Screams until he shakes. Hates as much as loves. He will not admit his faults, even now. And can I blame him? Not always. Lucifer pays for his mistake dearly, but it is a mistake of too much heart. Too much love. Love gone wrong and bad.

On the bad days, it is truly bad. He will call me every name under the sun and more. He will tell me I am a fool to love humans so, and that by consorting with them and 'helping' them I am no more than their slave. He will tell me that the Winchesters see me only in terms of the value I provide, and do not love me for who I am. He will tell me that the demon I love is worse still. Lucifer made the demons, but he hates them as he hated Hell. Nothing he can make will he ever love, and he knows that, now. So do I.

But there are days, too, when it's better. On these days we walk together, side by side through kind flowers and thrumming life. I was never there the first time around, but it doesn't seem to matter. His glorious, tarnished sunrise-and-set wings brush against the raven-black of mine, our Graces sparking in our breasts. It comforts him to have me there.

Sometimes we will sit together, and I will stroke my fingers through his feathers, through his hair. Sometimes he will stroke through mine. Simple pleasures that he has long since been denied. I will admit, it feels good to have him touch me, and it feels good to see him smile.

Lucifer is beautiful, still. He always will be.

Under the cherry blossom, we lie as naked as God intended. We both cleave to our vessels in our dreams, but strangely he picks the one that died over Sam, and I never question it. Perhaps he feels he is no longer humanity's slave, no longer bound to the destiny of ending them from within one of them... I am not sure. I see both, though. The true form and his chosen face. Both are beautiful, both are _him_.

We lie openly together, and he writes the words of songs long lost into my skin. His tongue trails over my flesh like quicksilver, cold and heavy. He says mine feels like honey, and it makes me smile to think of bees. I have always liked bees.

His tongue pushes over me, silent prayers and praise, a Eucharist and a paean he will not voice. I take them all, I act as a slate for his confession to be written on and wiped clean. We both know it will not last, we both know it is only a momentary reprieve from the hellfire that rages inside his head... but we do it all the same. 

His fingers in my hair hold me in place as I swallow anything he gives to me. It would be wrong to call what we do sex, but it is the only way a human would understand it, I suppose, this sharing of self. This way we have of letting the other in. His battered Grace brushes against mine, and I find the jagged edges and push myself into the gaps to try filling them with my light. It hurts him, but it is a good hurt. The same way my hands tugging his wings, his locks... these are pains he needs along with the pleasure, in order for it to work. It horrified me, to begin with. To hurt him so. But he says yes as I say no, he says please, as I burn in shame. He says thank you, and I say sorry. He is incapable of finding peace unless we hurt.

He needs it to hurt me too, you see. Body, mind and Grace. And it does hurt. It hurts to hear him scream as I push into him, and try to drive the pain _out_ and in... in one. Hurts as I let him feel the Heaven inside my breast, let him stroke those icy fingers into my very core... but I do it for him, because I love him, too.

When we are done, he kisses me goodbye. I do not know what _him_ I will find the next time, but I know I will love that version of him, too. Even the one that is blackened and screaming. Even the one that hates me and God, because his hate is born from one place alone.

I leave and I go back to my demon.

He should hate me, you know. He should hate me for loving Lucifer, but he cannot bring himself to do it and I do not know why.

Aching from my time in my dream, my demon will wrap around me and he will love me too.

This is my Heaven.

To some, it looks an awful lot like Hell.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fly Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180973) by [shesgottheknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesgottheknife/pseuds/shesgottheknife)




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